


Offensive and Even Cruel

by oakest



Category: Gilmore Girls
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, fluff fluff fluffy fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:47:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26743117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oakest/pseuds/oakest
Summary: “I’m not wearing a tie for you.”“And I’m not wearing heels for you.”-Chilton has a prom. Paris and Jess are probably the two least likely people to go. Probably.
Relationships: Paris Geller/Jess Mariano
Comments: 3
Kudos: 21





	Offensive and Even Cruel

**Author's Note:**

> This sat in my drafts forever because I feel like it doesn’t really do their dynamic justice, and it really should have a prequel that I’m too lazy to write in order to make sense for them as a couple. But it is cute on its own regardless, so fuck it. Enjoy some rare pair fluff.

Jess should've seen it coming, probably. He wasn't even sure what Rory was mad at him for this time, but it had been a while since she had stormed into the diner with that scrunched-up angry look on her face, so it was about time she get mad at him for something.

As usual, he ignores her at first. She struts up to the counter and clears her throat loudly. The diner is nearly empty, midday sunlight shining in and giving the place an airy stillness. They both know there's no real urgent need for Jess to be fiddling with the coffee pots. But fiddle he does, just to irk her. He's quite good at it, really. Irking her.

“Jess.”

“Sorry. Busy,” Jess says offhandedly. In his fake fiddling, he thinks he may have actually knocked something out of place, because the machine is starting to whir angrily. Looking on the bright side, it means he doesn't have to act distracted when Rory starts in on her rant. He's genuinely focused on readjusting the filter. Maybe that's why it startles him so much to hear her words.

“-and if you don't ask her, I swear to God, she will take her frustration out on me. And if you make me die in a grisly manner at the hand of my own best friend, there is going to be some serious hell to pay, mister,” Rory scolds him. First, it takes Jess a while to catch up that she's talking about Paris. He gets stuck on "best friend" - Paris will be elated to hear that the title is mutual, and Jess makes a note to tell her later. But more pressing is the apparent threat of death he's holding over his girlfriend's head.

“I'm going to kill her?” He asks, reminding himself that Rory is a Gilmore, so she's probably being dramatic. But frankly, Paris has seemed a little distant lately, and the voice in the back of his head was starting to worry that she was getting bored of him. He would take her fiery anger over her recent moping any day. His hopeful eyes flit over his shoulder to look at Rory.

Rory crosses her arms. “Don't act dumb, Mariano. You know what you're doing to her.”

Jess abandons the coffee now, matching her crossed arms as he leans back against the counter. “What I'm doing to her?” He can feel the defensiveness bubbling up in his chest. “She's the one pushing me away. Don't go pinning her every inane mood swing on me.” God, why does he say things like that?

Rory narrows her eyes at him, like she's just as mad at the words as Jess is. She doesn't say anything, but somehow, dealing with her glare is much worse than any verbal lashing. He softens, but makes sure to roll his eyes. He's glad it's just Kirk tucked away at a corner table in the restaurant with them, no Luke or Lorelai or pressing town eyes to notice him give to Rory so easily.

“Look, I don't even know why she's mad, alright?” He sighs. Rory raises an expectant eyebrow, like a _c'mon_. Still caught in her glare, Jess huffs again. “Can you at least tell me why she's mad so I can fix it?” It's as close to ‘I'm sorry, please help me’ as he's ever going to give.

“You know why she's mad, Jess.”

“No, I really don't,” Jess replies curtly. He finds himself tired of standing there under the weight of her glare, so he goes back to the coffee machine. He picks up a towel to wipe it down with; anything to keep busy.

“You are so thick,” Rory sighs, resigning herself and sitting on a stool. Jess resolutely does not look at her. “Prom is coming up.”

At that, Jess freezes. He drops the towel, turning to face Rory. He's hoping she'll be maniacally laughing, ready to tell him this is an elaborate prank and she can't believe he's so gullible. She simply raises her eyebrows. Jess's heart sinks.

“She wants me to take her to prom?” He can't help it; disgust clouds over his confusion pretty quickly. Rory rolls her eyes at him like it's the stupidest question in the world.

“Of course she does. Every girl wants a cute boy to whisk her off her feet at senior prom,” Rory's tone turns a little wistful, and Jess winces. He doesn't have time to delve into the Rory-Dean post-breakup dynamics right now. He knows he probably should console her and tell her it's not her fault Sasquatch demanded too much from her, but he can't help his mind from veering back towards Paris before anything comforting reaches his mouth.

“She wants me to take her to prom.”

———

From there, it all spiraled out of control.

It took Jess a while to build up the courage to breach the subject with Paris herself, but he forcibly, painfully, managed to choke out the word "prom" over the phone. Uncomfortable silences stretched out until he finally blurted, “There's no way in hell I'm making you a promposal poster. And you can't make me eat whatever nonsense food they're gonna serve.” Paris almost muted him; she was that close to squealing with joy. But she maintained her composure, her silence - much to Jess' dismay. With no reaction to go off of, he lamely added, “And I'm not wearing a tie for you.”

“And I'm not going to wear heels for you.” Paris' smile was so big that Jess could practically see it through the phone. He laughed out a huff of relief.

So to prom they went; crisp white dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar and Mary Janes hidden under a sweeping navy blue hemline. Rory did Paris' hair and makeup, and she did such a nice job that Jess felt the wind punch out of him when she came floating down the Gilmore's steps. (Paris wanted Rory to come too, but she politely declined being their third wheel. Of course it all happened at her house anyways, because it's always a Gilmore who changes things for Marianos and Gellers.)

Of course, Paris made Jess breathless just about all of the time. He loved her in navy blue, the contrast of it on her pale, exposed collar bones, but she could have been wearing any color in the world and his thoughts would've scrambled like eggs in a pan.

Paris had to do some serious maneuvering to avoid her mother's interference in the event, but the woman was distracted enough with her new boyfriend that she forgot to force Paris to go to prom with her cousin or something. Luckily, that meant no limo; they pulled up to Chilton in Jess' junk rat car. It should have been funny, how out of place they were, but the feeling was too familiar for either of them to laugh.

They stood next to his car in the parking lot, staring up at the towering walls and feeling small. Then Paris takes his hand, and Jess whispers in her ear that the girls lining up to give their tickets at the door look impressively drunk already, and their eyes meet as they beam with pent-up laughter.

They don't dance, for Jess's sake. They do hover by the refreshments table long enough for the gossip mill to start churning out fantasies about the couple, for Paris's sake. Jess has the vague feeling Paris kind of wants to parade him around, like he's a trophy to be hoisted, the last in her long line of accomplishments over her peers. It annoys him for a moment, but the moment passes; he hears her _giggle_ \- an actual giggle, he’s never heard that from her before - with her unrestrained happiness and pride over _him_ and it's pretty much over for him then and there. He can't blame her for wanting to show up these rich pricks, anyways. If he had the opportunity send his ambitious, high-standards girlfriend to yell at some of the bums back in New York he’d grown up with - well. He's happy to be her trophy, just for the night.

When she introduces him to Madeline and Louise, who don't even bother to hide their poking and prodding, it takes everything out of Jess to maintain his monosyllabic composure. Everyone here has been equally annoying all night, granted, but none of them had previously been described by Paris as "friends." He can't wrap his head around why she tolerates them. Then, Louise insinuates that she'd be more fun to take home than Paris, and Jess really does lose control of his tongue.

“Yeah, I'm sure all the boys think you're a hoot when the itching and burning begins,” he says with just this side of too much venom. Paris's shock is second only to that of Madeline and Louise. Paris doesn’t bother trying to mend the situation; they’re both clearly tired of this, and she can hardly believe he just said that. She sharply grabs his wrist and pulls him away. A glance over her shoulder informs her that Madeline is already whispering in the ear of the nearest person who will listen. Luckily, this is not the first Chilton dance Paris has wanted to flee, so she knows the perfect hidden avenue that takes them to an empty alcove, an offshoot from the main hall.

They don't talk at first, Paris just throwing down his wrist and adjusting his shoulders so he's forced to face her. He focuses on the molding of the wall to their left instead, happy for the low lighting, and doesn't meet her eyes. He's in no mood to apologize or explain. Events like this always wind him up tight, and his comment wasn't too far out of his normal range of conversation either way. Paris crosses her arms with a deep sigh. He keeps his gaze away.

“As a feminist, I'm appalled that you resorted to slut-shaming, regardless of their complicity in the bimbo stereotype. You know better than to reinforce that. And as a feminist, your protectiveness over me is completely unacceptable. You can't be out there defending my honor like I'm some helpless maiden, snapping at everyone who you don't like on my behalf,” she scolds in a voice that would leave most people quivering in her wake.

Jess isn't most people. When he slowly turns to look up at her, he's holding back a smile.

“Oh, yeah? As a feminist?”

Paris tries to swallow the lump in her throat, but it persists. She manages, “Yes. As a feminist.”

He steps a little closer into her space, laughing to himself when it's suddenly Paris who can't keep eye contact. They both know the implied second half of her statement, but Jess wants to make her say it out loud anyways. “And as my girlfriend?”

She blushes fiercely at the title, just as she always does, just as he hoped she would. She mumbles incoherently and stumbles backwards a bit, but he follows without missing a beat, staying close on top of her. “What was that?”

If Paris had been on her way to putting a real human sentence together in reply, Jess dismantles it completely when he reaches his hand down to brush his fingers delicately over her knuckles and intertwine their hands. She lets out a shaky breath, and Jess can actually see her knees waver underneath her. He doesn't mean to get all caveman-possessive on her, but the swell of pride in his chest knowing that he is capable of making the great Paris Gellar act like this washes him in warmth. He squeezes her hand a little tighter, and the pressure seems to help ground her again.

She looks up at him, blue eyes blown wide. She's got a small smile twitching on her face, like it's just waiting to break out into a huge grin. In this moment, in the dark offshoot from the ballroom, the walls reverberating muffled music and Paris staring up at him wearing that navy blue dress, Jess Mariano swears he might be in love with Paris Gellar.


End file.
